


Of Feathers and Things That Fly

by jamiesfreckles



Category: Dragon Quest Series, Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Wings, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Magic, Jasper Needs His Own Warning Label, M/M, Quests, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21773542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamiesfreckles/pseuds/jamiesfreckles
Summary: The story of a boy without wings, who longed to be a bird, and became a wolf instead.Erdrea is at war. The Cursed King shrivels on his throne. There are murmurs of a light growing in the shadows.Caught in the middle of it all, Erik dreams of a day when he might break free of his cell and escape to the forest. A dark place. A place, whisper the scrolls he steals at night, where something stirs within. A place where he might finally find a way to fly, after years of being forced to crawl.
Relationships: Camus | Erik/Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	1. A Ribbon Of Ink

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite a long fic. I have a lot of it written already, but it might take a while to post it all. It is a bit dark in places, but not in an injury/violence way. I'd say it runs parallel to canon-level darkness. The only warnings are really for language and some violence, because Erik is a prisoner in the beginning, but I won't be descriptive or too mean. The focus is on hope, here. 
> 
> I will add tags as I go, but please let me know if you want me to add one or change the rating!
> 
> Takes place in a Universe where the Luminary never came to Cobblestone, and things went very differently for the rest of the world.

> Day 407. I have studied her for years. There are more scrolls in my house than there are in the last of the Great Temples of Solemn; a point of pride for me, and one of despair for my housemaid. I spend my days with my nose in history, walking around splattered with ink. Mother worries. She thinks my plans are insane. I care not. SHE of noble strength and unfailing wisdom is worth the accusations of insanity.

Erik scoffed, flipping the pages. Unfailing wisdom sounded too good to be true, but this was his most promising lead. And that really did say something about his life.

> Day 434. There is a great curse upon my family. Most know it as truth; Uncle denies it, but last I saw him was at the bitter end of weeks spent coughing and croaking, with his hair black as ink against his pasty face. Denying it is no use. It will not be long now.

The next entry was blotted with ink and tears, all smeared across the rough parchment. Erik lifted the page gingerly, peering closely at the letters.

> Day 450. Oh, AEQUATEK. I know the truth now. SHE will not show herself to me. No matter how much I try, no matter how many sacrifices I make, SHE remains lost to me. Aloof! As is HER right, and the source of my unending sorrow.

Sacrifices. The word made Erik uneasy. Not many people knew of Aequatek’s whereabouts, hence why he was hunkered down in the aisle of a strictly-patrolled library, attempting to stay silent and unseen. It made a sick sort of sense that some idiots long ago would turn to sacrifices, and darker, deadly practices to find the answers they sought. He didn't know how old the diary was, but the pages were spotted with yellow, which was a sure indicator that he was reading the words of someone lost to the world.

> Day 468. It will not be easy, but I have found a solution. I know it now, plain as day; I cannot wait for HER to come to me. If I die in this cold house, it will be with ink on my hands and dissatisfaction on my brow; an unfinished novel, the last chapters blank. I must venture forth, to the distant skies of Arap-Nomn, and find her.

The last line trailed off in a ribbon of ink.

> I must find AEQUATEK…

A piercing wail broke the silence of the Library. Erik slammed the diary shut, breathing hard at the sudden onslaught of noise. It was easy to lose time in the dark, towering stacks, where the books rustled and scrolls unravelled for curious noses. Erik had never been much of a reader, but nothing was more compelling than the mystery of Aequatek. Even he had to forcibly pull himself from the musty quiet of the Library before it was too late.

But if the sirens were singing, then he had already taken far too long.

The diary was worn, falling apart at the seams. The soft leather felt like butter beneath his fingers as he slid the slim volume back on a shelf. Barely breathing, he dodged the steely gaze of the Library Monitor as it shuffled past on silent wheels, blades clicking and whirring.

The Library Monitors didn't like Erik; they never had, not since he showed up seven years ago with a dislike of books and blood on his clothes. The blood had washed away with a good, hard scrubbing in the snow outside, but the dislike of books had stained him in their glowing red eyes for life. 

“Not doing anything,” he muttered, before it could turn the corner. It was habit, by now, to state his intentions before someone could haul him away and throw a mop at him. “Krystalinda sent me.”

The Witch had done no such thing, and she would string him up by his ankles if she caught wind of his lies. But she was the boss around these parts, at least when it came to the armies of monsters under her command, and as long as she didn't find out, then the lie was worth it. 

The Library Monitor bristled and ignored him. It slid down the narrow aisle framed by bookshelves. One of its wheels had turned slightly inwards, but it made no move to stop and fix it. Machines were like that, the Chief said. Never knew when to stop because they never felt it when they neared their ends. 

The Chief had looked at him when he said that, something knowing in his gaze. It had unnerved him at first, but Erik was all flesh and blood, and the Chief was gone now, so he put it from his mind.

The Library Monitor vanished. Erik blew out a sigh of relief, tucked his hands in the pockets of his coat, and whistled lowly as he turned to make his escape. 

“Somewhere to be?”

Erik threw himself to the left with a curse, but his body didn't move. The magic was sudden and striking, holding him captive. Arrested in a pool of wavering blue light, Erik struggled against his own uncooperative limbs. 

The voice came from behind him. “I didn't stop your mouth from moving.”

“Bastard,” Erik spat. 

“Now I’m thinking that perhaps I should have.” 

The blue light flared in warning, before dissipating altogether. Erik stayed frozen in place for precious seconds before slumping like snow on the ground. His knees had barely skimmed the tiled floor when he felt a hand graze his neck, burying into his collar and pulling him upright.

“Stop fucking yanking me around,” Erik snapped, wrenching himself away from Jasper’s grip. 

Jasper chuckled. It was a soft, self-satisfied sound, and it grated on Erik’s nerves. He wasn’t that much older than Erik, but he was the Captain of the King’s Guard, and he owned these parts. The Kingdom of snow and blood sat snugly in his pocket.

“A little decorum would not go amiss, brat.” Jasper waved him ahead. “Walk on. Your presence has been requested at the front-lines. The King needs to speak with you.”

Dread filled Erik’s stomach, but iron filled his bones. He drew himself upright and marched ahead, gritting his teeth as Jasper stalked after him, a menacing mass of dark power.

Monsters chittered on the banisters and stairways, laughing and spitting as he slunk by. The tower wound down and around, descending deep into the dark, manky air that was once clean and filled with light. Once, there had been tables filled with curious scholars and warm, yellow lanterns that floated above them. Now, the smell of old books was overpowered by the stench of blood. 

Erik stepped onto the bottom floor with his head held high, and was promptly kicked in the gut. He doubled over, the breath wheezing out of him. His mind went black for a minute, before he bit his tongue to keep a cry inside. 

“Nosssse in the air, nosssse in the air!” hissed a Dracky, doing loops near a pile of smoking books. “Thinkssss he’s better than ussss.”

Jasper said nothing. 

Erik wrapped an arm around his stomach, wincing as he straightened up. He knew better than to show weakness in front of these bastards. One step would take him past the Dracky, and another twenty would put him at the front doors, where the cold ruins of a once proud Kingdom awaited him. 

Losing patience, Jasper planted his gloved hand between Erik’s shoulder-blades and shoved him forward. “Walk on. We don't have all day.”

Erik bit back a snarl and walked on. 

The cold hit him like a thousand paper-cuts. Too sharp to notice at first, and then blinding in its sudden presence. The air whistled through his teeth as he stumbled out of the Library, listening to the doors creak shut behind them.

When he was younger, Erik was found in the snow. Curled protectively around his younger sister, both of them shivering and blue to the core, he had learned then what ice felt like. Frost hung from his eyelashes. It was the coldest he had ever been, and he learned quickly that life didn't get much warmer, nor kinder. 

It wasn’t something that he would ever forget, that frozen feeling that numbed the marrow in his bones. But he did wonder if some of the memory had turned to water in his mind; he recalled the snow, and how cold it was, but he also remembered it being _bright._

A bright, soft white. 

“I’m getting impatient now.”

Jasper shoved him again, but Erik was already moving. He trudged through the thick, dark snow. It seeped instantly into the worn soles of his boots. His socks were thick and darned often enough that the thickness didn't matter; the cold won out every time. 

The Kingdom of blood and snow spread out like a corpse before them. Snow, crimson from the light that fell down from the cursed sky, covered most of the land. Veins of ash ran through the sloping fields; places where the land had been seared with fire stood out darker than the rest. There were no trees, no birds, no creatures or quivering leaves. Only a harsh, bloody darkness. 

Jasper moved to stand level with him. They walked in silence, pushing through the snow and ignoring the snapping maws of monsters pacing through the wicked undergrowth. What little that grew here was thorny and brittle, riddled with rot. 

“I take it the King didn't say what he wanted with me,” Erik said. “As long as it’s not more mopping.”

Jasper’s lip curled, but he didn't respond. 

“Y’know, I talk a lot about having more responsibility around the house, but I think you and the old man might have more luck with someone else. Someone more suited to cleaning and cooking. Someone who doesn’t want to poison your bloody ale.”

“As if you would ever do something so foolish.” Jasper turned violet eyes on him. “Sometimes I wish you would. I long for the day when you finally give me an excuse, a reason to put you in the ground. But I know that day is far from near.”

“And why’s that?”

“You know why.” 

“Indulge me.” Erik grinned even as he was shoved ahead again.

“Fine. I will indulge you. That day will never come, brat, because you will never be brave enough to fight back. You’ve spent days in that library on your hands and knees, cleaning up the filth of others.” Jasper threw back his head in a mocking laugh. “Poison my ale? Poison your own, perhaps. We both know that day will never come, because we both know what you are.”

“And what’s that?” Erik said, curling his hands into fists at his sides. “You took me from the Kingdom and you’ve bossed me around for years, but that doesn’t mean you know a thing about me.”

“I know one thing. You, Erik Skarvard, are a coward.”

The words cut him to the core. Not just because he felt them to be untrue, but because that had never been his name. But the vikings had given it to him, which meant Erik had no choice but to use it. Erik slipped in the muddy snow, but managed to stay upright. Jasper shoved him and shoved him until they came to the tip of the next field, and found a wagon waiting for them on the seared ground. The back portion was laced with chains, and the front was attached to a horse that rumbled as they drew closer. 

“Lacksia,” Jasper murmured, placing his hand against the wagon. 

The wood began to glow, as though it was lit from within by a honeyish light. The chains slithered out of their pile, untangling themselves and creeping towards Erik. He stood stiffly, eyes turned towards the dirt road. It ran through the Kingdom, towards the front-lines, where the King’s tent was pitched in a camp not far from the chaos. It would take a little over a day to reach it. 

Or he could follow the road North, into the Hekswood. 

The Hekswood. It was visible even now, miles North of here, across tumbling fields and craggy rocks. A great mass of towering trees, somehow untouched by the fires that raged these once snowy lands, turning the ground to ash. There was no telling how vast the Hekswood was. Black smoke lay like velvet atop the canopy of dark trees. There was a thickness to the forest that warned against visitors. 

A chain wrapped loosely around his wrist, almost in a question. Erik jerked, and looked up to find Jasper was watching him. He made no move to grab Erik, to subdue him forcibly. There was a smirk playing about his mouth. 

“Thinking of running? Go ahead. I’d like to see how long you survive out there.” Jasper made a sound of mock-surprise. “Oh, but that’s right. You only run away from danger, don't you, boy?”

Erik’s fingers ached from how hard he clenched them. He dropped the tight hold, letting his fists uncurl, and bowed his head as the chains swarmed him. They wrapped around him like a noose, but he couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t had the chance to run away. He let himself be pulled into the wagon. The chains locked into place, sliding through metal loops that lined the glowing wood. The glow died down as Erik pressed his back against the floor of the wagon, among the wet straw and mud, and bit his lip.

Heavy footfalls signalled Jasper’s approach. His grinning face filled Erik’s vision, and he clucked his tongue in mock-sympathy. 

“You look cold. Here, this might help.”

A ragged, musty blanket was thrown over Erik. He bit his lip so hard that blood ran down his chin, lying wide-eyed in the dark. The blanket was thin enough that it let in a little light, but not enough to calm the racing in his heart. He heard Jasper chuckle as he walked away, and then the creak of wheels as he climbed on top of the wagon, reaching for the reins. 

To the North, something stirred in the Hekswood. The trees whispered to each other, their luxurious voices gossiping in the wind: they spoke of light, and hope, and a distant Kingdom in the sky, but their words were too far away. Erik couldn’t hear them. 

“Walk on,” Jasper said to the horse. 

The wagon rattled South. 


	2. Hiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The creature was a three-headed snake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered how to tag this, and then I remembered how very dark the games can get, and how it doesn’t seem that way sometimes because the colours are so bright. So I suppose that’s something to keep in mind here. 
> 
> Regardless: Warnings for blood and injury, though none of it is Erik’s, and it isn’t graphically described. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!! <3

Swords crashed together in a piercing ruckus, and the resulting song threw Erik awake. The chains around his wrists clenched tightly around his fragile bones, and he flopped back onto the floor of the wagon, his heart racing. 

He cursed himself for falling asleep, but the trip was long and there was nothing else to do in the wagon except think. Thinking had never been his strong suit - didn't matter who you asked, they all agreed. And since he didn't spend much time with his eyes closed these days, he had let himself drift off.

The wagon had rolled to a halt. He could hear the horse scuffing against the ground, impatient. No doubt they had reached the King’s Camp; Erik strained to hear, but the clatter of swords had faded. 

Someone cleared their throat. “State your business.”

The blanket fluttered with Erik’s sharp exhale. The rough fabric pressed against the cracked skin of his lips like an unwanted kiss. He listened to Jasper’s boots hit the ground as he swung himself off the wagon, slogging through the mud. He heard another gasp, not dissimilar to his own. 

“General Jasper, sir! I meant no offence, sir, no—!”

The words cut off with a strange gurgle. 

“State my business?” Jasper scoffed. “Apparently, my business is to weed out the useless, impertinent men in our garrison. What use are you as Guards, if you cannot even identify your General? Ivney! Ectar! Fray!”

The blanket turned a greyish-green as the words of power came to life. Shadows darted across the fabric before it was torn away, leaving Erik to blink in the sudden light. It had gotten dark while they rode South, and now the sky heaved with cursed, purple smoke. It was still bright enough to hurt. A lantern swung wildly from Jasper’s fist, illuminating his grin. Red flecks adorned his collar. 

“Up, brat. We have kept the King waiting long enough.”

The chains retreated with a slithering clink, leaving behind patches of raw, icy skin. Erik rubbed his sore wrists as he got to his feet, climbing off the wagon and landing with a wet squelch. He winced, and glanced down; his threadbare boots were buried in a pool of blood. The man who had spoken before lay not far from them, clutching his leg. His eyes were wide in his pale, papery face.

There was another Guard standing nearby, still in his post. The swords they had practiced with lay at his feet, and he stared straight ahead, stoic and tight-lipped. A whimper from the ground drew Erik’s attention, and he winced again. 

“We shouldn’t leave him here, not this late,” Erik said. 

Jasper’s expression grew blank. “Pardon?”

“He’ll die there if we don't get him some help,” Erik insisted, though he had to swallow around a nervous lump in his throat to do it. “You have to get him inside the camp.”

“Is there something in the water tonight?” Jasper reached out and grasped Erik’s collar, pulling him forward to snarl in his face. “Since when do you tell me what we should or should not do? Since when am _I_ the one who is questioned at every turn? The King requests your attendance, and that fool is lucky that I did not rip his limbs from his body. Now, do as you are told, and _walk on.”_

Jasper’s breath stank of copper. Erik turned his head as it hit his cheek, and met the man’s terrified gaze. He let out a weak moan, trembling from head to toe, and mouthed something. In the grimy light, it was impossible to make it out. 

“The monsters will scent the blood in the air,” Erik murmured, averting his eyes. “It won’t be just him that gets torn apart. I agree that he’s weak, but you don't want the rest of your men being attacked because of his stupidity, do you?”

Jasper’s gaze narrowed. For a sheer, heart-stopping moment, Erik was afraid that he might meet the end of that blade himself. 

He had spent a long time treading on eggshells around Jasper and his men, diligently walking the line between quiet rebellion and fearful obedience. It would be a shame to make it this far, only to throw it all away for someone on the other side. 

Jasper pulled Erik even closer, his fist tightening with an audible creak, only to throw him aside with a snarl. He staggered and caught himself in the mud, smearing his sleeve before scrambling upright. 

“Thompson, take care of the mess,” Jasper snapped. “Make sure this fool whines and writhes somewhere less inconvenient.”

Thompson, the other Guard, nodded briskly and set to work. The bleeding man shook like a leaf. 

Erik didn't know why he had bothered to speak up; risking his life was part and parcel of existing among these people, but risking it for an enemy? That was foolish to the extreme. He kept his head down as they passed, still rubbing his wrists and ignoring the blood on his boots. Jasper kept close to him, breathing down his neck as they entered the King’s Camp. 

It was a hive of movement. The cursed sky didn't leave much light to see by, but someone had hung glass lanterns from every post and pillar. They bloomed with orange fire; lava lumps nestled cosily in each lantern. Long rolls of burlap covered the well-trodden pathways, to keep the mud from churning. Something chittered in the dark, but it was drowned out by the sounds of horses in their pens, and soldiers shouting at each other from tent to tent.

“You know the rules,” Jasper said, whispering the words against Erik’s ear. “No speaking unless called upon. The King will give you his demands, and it is not your job to question them. You will answer quickly and honestly. Any attempt to lie will be seen through and dealt with accordingly, so please…” Jasper’s voice softened into something cruel and lilting, “feel free to keep the truth hidden. It will improve my night.”

The King’s tent was a grand affair. It came into view as they circled around the main cluster of tents, avoiding the keen, curious eyes of soldiers replenishing their health at healing stations. 

Unlike the plain, dark tents that the soldiers and the wounded slept in, the King’s tent was a vivid, deep red. The material was thick as curtains and embroidered with dark purple symbols, runes that Erik didn't recognise. 

He knew some basic languages, having spent most of his life that he could remember in the Library, swallowing knowledge between scrubs, discarding some of the more boring books. But this escaped him. This looked ancient and painful, as though it had been carved into the material.

Two soldiers flanked the doorway to the King’s tent. Their swords were slanted in a cross over the entrance, but they withdrew them as Jasper stepped into the light of the many lanterns ringing the tent. His sneer had settled into something blank and vaguely respectful. Erik didn't like it. He wanted the old Jasper back, the one that was cruel and obviously so. He knew where he stood with that Jasper. 

An icy breeze fled the tent, hissing viciously. Erik shuddered, pushed forward by Jasper’s unyielding hand. It was only when he ducked beneath the tent flap, heart pounding in his chest, that he realised it hadn’t been the wind at all. 

“Jasper,” the King murmured. “Finally.”

Jasper bowed low, sweeping his hand across his chest. “A thousand apologies, My Lord. We were delayed at the gate.”

“No matter. You have come now.”

Erik swallowed back the sick feeling in his throat. The inside of the tent was warm, and a grand violet carpet led up to the dais where a throne sat. No matter how hard he tried, he could not look away from the figure that sat on it. 

Erik remembered King Carnelian, but only just. He had been a tall wisp of a man with a peppered beard, staring down approaching armies with fire in his eyes. He had ruled with certainty and grace, though perhaps not without a few dalliances on the side. Those dalliances became obvious when war came to this land, and King Carnelian arrived at the head of the army, the light in his eyes wilted. 

This figure looked nothing like the old King Carnelian, but it could be no other.

“You have not seen a Shadowed body before, have you, boy?” The King laughed long and hard, but beneath it was a hushed echo, an overlapping of voices. “Come closer. Look your fill.”

“I can see fine from here.”

But Jasper made a noise of outrage and threw Erik forwards. He landed on his hands and knees at the foot of a raised platform, staring up to the throne. It was plainly carved, made of a deep oak that was hardly visible through the haze of purple mist surrounding it. But the figure on the throne was impossible to look away from. 

Little more than a skeleton in rich rags, King Carnelian’s body lay slumped on the throne. His skeletal hands rested like petals on the arms of his throne, and his mouth sagged. The skin around his eyes was so thin and translucent that every vein was visible. Erik took a shuddering breath and almost gagged at the pervasive stench of rot. He was a living corpse, with glazed eyes and a ragged mouth. King Carnelian’s body, with something far darker pulling the strings.

“Allying oneself with dark magic has consequences, boy,” hissed the misty creature hovering above King Carnelian. “This body does not have room for my soul, bulging with evil power. It is a grace and a burden, to know the intricacies of this curse.”

The creature was a three-headed snake. The hissing voice came from each mouth, but the tail of the snake protruded from beneath Carnelian’s tongue. It pulsed with malevolent magic, casting a darkness over the room. Erik shivered, unable to pull his gaze from Carnelian’s dead-eyed stare. 

“Is he still in there?” Erik said.

Jasper delivered a swift kick to his back, and he remembered the rule. Don’t ask questions. But the snake - the cursed King - _they_ chuckled.

“We are almost the same now,” said the snake. “Almost the same.”

That wasn’t quite an answer, but Erik had pushed his luck enough for one day. With a sickness rising in his throat, he bowed his head low without breaking eye contact. 

“You called for me, sir. What would you have me do?”

“Whatever I wish.”

The warning was clear. Erik bowed his head again and remained silent, his mind ticking frantically over every rule he had ever heard from the mouths of monsters and wounded men. Do not address the King as ‘sir’ wasn’t on the list, but he imagined it was going to get him killed regardless. 

“Much better,” hissed one of the snake heads. “You were stationed far from this camp.”

Erik felt sweat prickle to life at the back of his neck. “At the Library. I was placed there five years ago.”

“And your duties?”

“To clean and care for the monsters that live there. To tend to the Library. To do Jasper’s bidding.”

A tendril of smoke curled around Erik’s chin, jerking him upright. He could not help but wince as the three heads swayed, staring at him with glistening red eyes. Behind him, Jasper was silent and still. 

“I have another use for you,” the snake said. “We have taken a prisoner. You will tend to him.”

The tendril of smoke pressed over his mouth as protests bubbled out of him. Erik found himself on his feet, Jasper’s hands looped under his armpits and digging into his skin. The tendril caressed his cheek, and Erik went rigid. 

“Jasper will find someone new to destroy. The Library will stand for another year without you there. Your new place is here, under my eyes.” Three sets of eyes glimmered with menace. “Do not stray far.”

“I can’t—” Erik began, but he was cut off by a spark of violet power that surged from Jasper’s hands, electrifying his skin. He felt jittery and unhooked, and though it didn’t hurt, his jaw refused to work.

“Take him to the cells, that he might get acquainted with his new charge.”

Jasper murmured an agreement. His grip tightened, more power crackling across Erik’s shoulders in heated, rippling waves. Erik tried to throw him off, but it was no use. He was hauled backwards across the tent, multiple pairs of glowing eyes fixed upon his struggling form with something akin to amusement. 

Beneath the snake, King Carnelian closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Let me know if I missed anything. You’re all excellent eggs! <3


	3. A Wall Of Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in a long time, a seed of fear buried itself deep in Erik’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly smaller chapter that follows directly on from the last one, and introduces an important character! Thank you for the response to the last one, I know this is quite slow-going but hopefully it will be worth it in the end! <3

Erik spat out a mouthful of mud. His shoulder ached; he had landed on it awkwardly when Jasper threw him to the ground, and the blue magic holding him in place was unrelenting. Soldiers jeered nearby, but he couldn’t raise his head to see if they were watching. He could do no more than lie there and watch Jasper work himself into a rage, sparks of magic pouring from his fingers. 

“Nice place you’ve brought me to,” Erik said, panting harshly. “Might want to invest in some rugs though. Maybe some manners, too. I wouldn’t say no to a drink and a meal, either, but take your time.”

Jasper snarled. He was pacing like a wild animal, his cloak sweeping over Erik’s prone form with every circle he made. He kicked up mud in his wake, staining his boots and flecking Erik’s face, but his focus was elsewhere.

“Why?” Jasper said, his expression riddled with torment. “Why, after everything I have done, would the King choose _you_ of all creatures to aid him? I have been his most loyal of subjects, I have attended to his every need, and yet he passes me over at the first chance.”

Erik’s pulse picked up at the thought of the King. Carnelian, lying there with his haggard expression and lost eyes while the three-headed snake slithered above him. The image was burned into his mind. How long must the snake have been whispering in the King’s ear? How long had dark magic eaten away at his soul before he became nothing more than a host, a pile of bones in which a snake could lurk? Were they entwined now? Was there anything left of the old King Carnelian?

The most horrifying part was that Erik could not tell if Carnelian was even still alive.

“I have asked for nothing,” Jasper spat. “Committed atrocities in his name, delighted in the revelry of foul monsters, and yet this is how he repays me. By taking away my one chance to serve… to know the truth.”

“What are you talking about? He’s forcing me to look after a prisoner, to waste my time in a bunch of cells. You think I asked for this? You wanna be here instead of me? Go ahead, knock yourself out.”

Jasper was as swift as a panther when he wanted to be. He had Erik’s chin in his hands in seconds, wrenching his head up to stare deep into his eyes. His gaze was hateful. Erik swallowed a cry as the paralysing magic warred against the will of its wielder, and stared back with just as much loathing. 

“I have thought of many uses for you since you arrived in this place. Since you were thrown under my command, I have imagined all the ways that I could hurt you. Burn you to a crisp, turn your skin to ash, watch you disintegrate into nothing.” Jasper tilted his head up sharply, nails digging into the fragile skin of Erik’s throat. “I had thought to rip your memories from you, to make you believe that you were loyal to our side. Imagine a world where you do not know yourself, where you are nothing but a slave to our cause.”

Erik was fairly certain he stopped breathing. It had nothing to do with Jasper’s grip on his throat. There was no world in which he would bend willingly to the hatred, and the vile presence of monsters, no existence in which he would side with awful creatures and men that spewed evil and pain wherever they stepped. But to have the choice taken away, to have it made for him… it did not bear thinking about. 

For the first time in a long time, a seed of fear buried itself deep in Erik’s chest.

Jasper smirked. Then he let go, his bright, hawkish eyes flashing with cruel amusement as Erik gasped. “The magic will wear off in minutes,” he said, flicking his cloak disdainfully away from Erik. “Until then, lie there and think of the fate that awaits you, should you befoul the chance that should have been _mine.”_

The magic lasted longer than minutes. Erik lay in the dirt and shivered, waiting for the paralysing spell to break apart, for the cloud of blue to fade, but it didn't. He waited for Jasper to return to mock him for his weakness, but nobody came to this dark part of the camp. He listened to the raucous noise of soldiers celebrating, and if he strained his neck, he could see a flickering campfire in the distance, ringed by a wall of tents. But it ended with him flopping back against the ground, the wet, slimy mud cushioning his cheek.

“Fucking Jasper,” Erik wheezed out. “Like I want to be here. Like I asked for any of this.”

“Often, what we do not ask for later reveals itself to be the greatest gift we could ever receive.”

Erik jerked, and pain lanced through him as the magic gripped him tight in warning. The voice seemed to have come from behind him, but he couldn’t turn to look. All he could see was the muddy entrance to this curved portion of the camp, walled off by thick stone and clumps of dead, bedraggled bushes. He pursed his lips and waited for the voice to come back. 

“Gone quiet, have you? Well, no matter. I can talk enough for a tea party or two.”

“Who are you?” 

“That is of no consequence. I think the more pressing concern is how you plan to get yourself out of this pickle.”

Erik frowned, tugging on his loose, limp wrists despite the searing pain it caused. The voice sounded almost soothing. Erik didn't trust soothing, not in these times. There was an element of obscurity to the slow, patient way the stranger spoke. As though they knew a secret that Erik was not privy to.

“I can’t break his magic,” Erik said. “I don't have that kind of power. I don't have _any_ magic of my own.”

“It is unwise to reveal such a weakness to a stranger. Luckily, I have no intentions of using it for evil.” There was a rustle, almost like fabric brushing together, before Erik felt a warm breeze sweep over him. “There. That should do the trick.”

Erik’s muscles relaxed, and he sagged on the ground, breathing harshly. Jasper’s magic was a strange breed that fed off the energy of others, rather than his own. Erik always felt tired after dealing with him, and today was no exception. He buried his knuckles in the mud and pushed himself up onto all fours, rising unsteadily. Then he turned his back on the camp and moved to face his rescuer. 

A wall of stone greeted him. 

“Hey,” Erik called out. “You there?”

The breeze shifted, running playfully through his wild, dirty hair. Erik staggered upright and moved forward to examine the stone. He craned his neck up and was met with a towering, snow-capped peak. 

The war was happening everywhere. No corner of the land was left untouched by the chaos that fell when the Cursed King took over, but some places resisted the lure of evil. Sniflheim was the last great stronghold in the world, but it was fading fast. The front-lines, about a mile or two away from where the King’s Camp was stationed, was a long, dark pit in the black snow behind Sniflheim’s main city. Soldiers spent their days tunnelling beneath the mountains that hid the Kingdom from view, or climbing the treacherous peaks, to no avail. 

The wall of stone was the face of one such mountain. Smaller than the others, and on the very edge of the curve, it served little purpose than to keep part of the King’s Camp secure. Erik had only been here once, and that was years ago. 

“I know you’re there,” Erik said, raising his voice. “I told you, I don't have magic, so I can’t… open the wall. If you’re in that mountain or something, I can’t get you out. But I’m your new prison-guard, according to the… the King. I need to be able to see you.”

Technically, he didn't. There were magical slots in the mountain, spots where the stone was softer on the outside. All Erik needed to do was push food and water through the slots, and the prisoner would survive just fine. He thought he remembered where they were; it was hard to forget a place like this, even if it had been a long time since he was here. 

“I want to thank you,” Erik added. “You didn't have to help me out, just then.”

“You do not have to see me to thank me.”

Erik expelled a sigh of relief, reaching back to rub the back of his neck. “Call it common decency? Maybe I just want to see who I’m talking to. If you don't like that, then you can call it insatiable curiosity.” 

Half a minute passed before anything happened. The wall rippled, as though someone had dropped a stone in a pond. And then the grey mass of stone cleared to reveal a figure wrapped in fine, red wool, sitting peacefully on a cot inside the mountain. There were no bars, and no windows. No lanterns to light the gloom. Erik crept closer and took in every inch of the cell, but no matter how hard he tried to look at the figure, he couldn’t make out anything of note. 

“Why can’t I see you? Every time I try and look at your face, my eyes jump away.”

“In time, that will change,” said the prisoner. “But not yet. I cannot hold this magic for long, so say your piece, Erik of Vastling.”

Nostalgia wracked his bones. Erik stood in the mud, drenched in filth and aching with exhaustion, and pulled in a shaky breath. Vastling had been a small village filled with flowers and rivers and folk that treated him kindly. Of all the horrors that had happened today, the sound of his home was what filled his eyes with tears. He ducked his head and swiped them away with the dirty heel of his hand, shuddering. The prisoner watched him; he couldn’t see their eyes, but he could feel their piercing gaze on his skin.

“Thank you,” Erik said thickly. “Thank you. That’s all I wanted to say.”

The prisoner bowed their head low, and said nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot actually believe I am posting this because my eyes are burning from staring at the screen and I have been ill all day, so please bear with me if there are mistakes, I will return and poke them into behaving soon!
> 
> Also, I made up the Vastling place because Erik doesn't seem to have a canon-history and I figured there must be small villages or outpost-type things here and there or Erdrea doesn't make any sense, plus this is my world and I make the laws now. 
> 
> Thank you so much, I hope you enjoyed it!


	4. A Debt, Repaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Snake King sent for Erik on the third day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm okay. Things are moving now! I have a feeling I’m going to get some plot lines a little knotted up, so I’m trying to untangle things at the moment. But I’m fairly certain this is solid! 
> 
> Thank you for your lovely response!! It means a lot.

The Snake King sent for Erik on the third day. When he arrived, a soldier that he didn't know pushed him down on his knees on the thick carpet, before retreating. The spear trembled in his hands. Erik bowed his head and tried not to think too loudly, but the thoughts pounded through his head. Even the Snake King’s men were scared of him. Maybe he could use that to his advantage.

The three-headed snake of smoke writhed in the air above Carnelian’s dull, cracked crown. It was an old crown, forged in a small blacksmith’s home on the edge of the Wyrewood. The Wyrewood was no more, but the creations born within its greenery would stand for a thousand years. 

King Carnelian’s crown was a gift. It used to glitter. Now it was stained with dark, dry blood, and the only thing about it that glittered was the aura of malice worked deep into the metal. 

“The prisoner,” said the snake, all three mouths moving at once. “Has she spoken?”

Erik furrowed his brow. It wasn’t what he expected. Was he supposed to be spying on the prisoner? Gathering information from someone in a cell seemed contradictory. They were already trapped and at the mercy of the monsters. Why not just beat it out of them, if the snake needed it that badly?

The snake released a sound that might have been laughter. “Thoughts that take time are rarely true at heart. Sssspeak.”

“They asked me for more water, but that was it.” Erik lowered his head even further. “They haven’t said anything important, Your Majesty.”

The snake hissed. One head bobbed while the other snapped its jaws fruitlessly, but they could all agree on one thing: Erik had disappointed them. He left the King’s tent with orders and a thin slice running the length of his cheekbone. The bleeding soon stopped, but the sting refused to fade. 

“Prison boy.”

Even years later, Erik still reached for his knife when surprised. It had been a small dagger, the length of two thumbs and difficult to wield. Given to him by the Chief, although very reluctantly, and given up just as reluctantly.

Erik let his hand drop as it followed the natural path to his belt. He clenched it in a fist at his side, one eyebrow raised at the man standing in front of him. 

“What,” Erik said, “come to gloat? You got out of there just fine and I didn't. Great. Can I get back to my job now?”

It was the Guard from inside the King’s tent. It was also, when Erik peered closer, the soldier whose life he had inadvertently saved at the gateway to the King’s Camp. The soldier stalked closer, holding his spear rigidly, and lowered his voice upon reaching him. 

“I want to talk. Out of the way, where nobody can hear us.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“There’s a tent back here that nobody uses.” The soldier prodded Erik with the blunt end of his spear. “Get a move on, I haven’t got all day.”

A trail of flickering amber lanterns led them through the King’s Camp. Tents fluttered in the bitterly cool wind as they passed. Erik could see stories taking place on the canvas, shadows performing their everyday tasks inside for the intrigue of outsiders. When the trail of lanterns sputtered out, leaving them in a violet darkness, Erik found himself shoved towards a battered, abandoned tent. With a spear at his back, he didn't dare argue; he ducked inside. 

It was an old storage tent. Crates of medicine that had once been carefully stacked in rows now lay ransacked on the floor. Erik stepped over a python of dirty gauze and turned to face the soldier, wrinkling his nose at the musty scent of sickness lingering in the air.

“Nobody can know I helped you, got it?” the soldier said. 

“Tell me your name first, before anything else.”

“I’ll tell you what I wanna tell ya, and nothin’ more. The name’s Owen’s, but don't go using it in civilised company, you hear me?”

Erik crossed his arms over his chest, shoving his nerves down where they wouldn’t be seen. “Fine. What’s got you so scared?”

“I knew you was stupid enough to get caught, but I didn't think you was _that_ stupid. Did you have your eyes and ears closed when you met with the Snake King?” Owen’s scoffed, shifting uncomfortable. “You’d be a fool not to be scared of him, so I guess it makes sense that you ain’t.”

“Ha,” Erik said softly, an uneasy image of the snake flashing in front of his eyes. “I’m not that much of a fool.”

Owen’s nodded solemnly. He glanced at the tent door, gripping his spear like a lifeline, but made no move to leave. Either way, Erik didn’t think he had to worry about anyone listening to them. 

If the Snake King’s men were afraid of him, then it didn't make sense for them all to spy on each other. But that didn't mean there weren’t other ways for the monster to listen in.

“Won’t he notice that you’ve left the tent?” Erik said. “What if he has you followed?”

“The only thing that can follow me is his smoke-serpents, and those are all out, spying someplace else. You must have seen them—ruddy great monsters. He’s got bigger things to worry about than one guard and a prisoner.”

Erik didn't like the sound of that. Bigger meant ‘brutal’ where people like Jasper and the Snake King were concerned. It meant more damage. It meant that villages and towns and people were torn to shreds for the sake of their conquest. Children wandering the streets without mothers, and fathers lying dead in ditches, or turned to the Snake King’s side. It meant no medicine for poor folk, it meant years of hiding and stealing while fear permeated the world, all while the sky turned into a deep, oozing darkness.

“You saved my life from Jasper,” said Owens, lowering his spear slightly as his free hand drifted to his leg. “He woulda had me killed without mercy. Usually I’d leave it as long as I can before I repay that debt, but tomorrow I head for the frontlines. We’re launching an aerial attack… you don't need to know about that.”

“Hey, I’m never one to turn down free information.” But it was a long shot, and all Erik got for it was a scowl. 

“Look, the point is, I want this off my back before I head off. We leave soon. But you helped me, and now I’m gonna help you, so listen closely.”

Erik listened. Owen’s talked bluntly and quickly, and with every word anticipation hissed through Erik, riling him up. 

“You’re sure?” Erik demanded, when the soldier had finished muttering. “That can’t be.”

“It can. And it is.”

“But _how?”_

“Beats me.” Owen’s shrugged. “I’ve told you all I know, but maybe she can tell you more. It’s a secret for a reason, and not all of us are let in on secrets around ‘ere. You should get back before the Snake King realises you’ve gone off on your own.”

Owen’s drew back the flap of the tent and jerked his head once, before he vanished into the evening. Erik stood still and gazed off into the darkness, waiting for the truth to settle into something less chaotic, less incredulous. His heart thudded in his chest. He rubbed absently at his stinging cheek, smearing clotted blood across his skin. The sudden pain drew him from his reverie, and he took a deep breath before leaving the tent behind. 

The walk through the Camp was silent. Erik, lost in thought, barely noticed the ice in the sky as the Witch flew overhead. If there was an aerial attack, it was guaranteed that Krystalinda would be leading the charge. Her magic was cold and powerful, capable of razing villages to the ground with one sweep of her sharp, glinting staff. People left alive recalled the faintest memory of a cool, quiet chuckle creeping through the village, just before disaster struck. 

Frost climbed over the cliffs and mountains that towered above him. Erik shivered in the sudden influx of freezing cold, and he ducked further into his upturned collar, bowing his head against the icy wind. Weeds froze over where he walked, encased in shards of ice. He caught the glint of lanterns in the distance, and turned away from them, heading for the prison cells. 

The mountain wavered as he approached, but the wall remained standing. 

“Come out,” Erik called, frost-bitten mud cracking beneath his boots. “I need to talk to you.”

His mind was racing with all he had learned. The wall rippled, and then the stone was gone. The prisoner sat cross-legged in the middle of their cell, their cloak pooling around them like water. It was so thin, with no fur and no lining, but the prisoner never shivered. They shifted it slightly as they moved to kneel, face tilted up to watch Erik. He still couldn’t make out what they looked like, but it was a familiar sight.

“You were gone for longer than I expected,” the prisoner mused. “I worried that they had taken you hostage, stolen you away from your station here. They move to the front upon morning, don't they? Do you not want to be part of their fight, little one?”

Little one. The name was new, but Erik didn't let himself linger on the strangeness; people had been giving and taking his names for years now, and it was easy to shed them like the shackles they were. He turned away and made for the barrels that stacked against the wall, where he kept the bowls and spoons. There was no fresh food, but he popped the lid on an old crate, and pulled out a thin pot of spice. There was only a handful left. 

“It is strange to see you so quiet,” the prisoner said, in their quiet, musical voice. “Did the Snake King shake you?”

“You know him?”

“I did,” said the prisoner. “Once. When he was not a King.”

That was a surprise. “I expected you to say when he wasn’t a snake. When he wasn’t cursed.”

“Oh, he was always cursed to some extent.” The prisoner smiled, brushing invisible lint from their cloak. “I never knew the body he inhabits, but the creature that forms that smoke is intimately familiar to me. You might call us old friends.”

Erik poured water into a bowl, and added the spice. It began to clump up immediately, congealing like a soft dough, but the result was stodgy and tasteless, like eating horse grain. Erik took his fair share anyway and wolfed it down while the prisoner watched him. Every movement of his jaw pulled at the cut on his cheek, and he felt it open as he turned to give the prisoner the bowl.

“That will scar if you fail to treat it,” said the prisoner, peering at him through the open wall. “Dandelion roots and pink pine. Mash the roots to a pulp. Use the pine to apply it to the cut, and it will seal within the hour. It will still scar, but faintly so.”

The last few minutes had been full of more words than the prisoner had spoken in the last four days combined. Erik lowered the bowl and narrowed his gaze. 

“Oh yeah? Where am I going to find dandelion roots?”

“They grow in clusters, at the foot of the mountains. Weeds will survive even the harshest of winters.”

“You didn't have to look at me like that while you said that,” Erik said, leaning against the wall, head cocked. “I’m a pretty little flower on a good day. Dandelion roots by the mountain, got it. Pink pine?”

“You have not been using your eyes if you have not seen the pink tree that grows in this very camp.”

“Oh, I’m observant,” Erik said, allowing himself a small grin. “Just wanted to know how much you could see from inside this little cell.”

The prisoner fell silent. Erik pushed the bowl through the soft spot in the magical barrier, and it slid along the stone floor with a grating sound. Bits of straw, which filled the cot that prisoner slept in and often fell loose overnight, clung to the roughly-hewn wood. The prisoner bent to pick the bowl up, and brushed the straw away. 

“I was told to report back anything you said,” Erik told them. “The Snake King wants to know everything you think, every word you say. You must be a pretty important person for the snake to be so worried about you.”

“Oh?” The prisoner lifted the bowl to their lips. “What makes you say that?”

“You called him an old friend, for one thing. And call me crazy, but I don't think he cares much for the opinions of other people.”

The prisoner took a delicate bite of the thick broth, smiling, and did not call Erik crazy.

*

As far as sentences went, it could have been worse. In the Library, Erik slept on the tiled floor and went hungry. He cleaned everything in sight and spent his days reading, swallowing dust instead of food while monsters screeched in his ears. The place was cold and dark, and the company was colder and darker. He didn't enjoy it, but there was comfort in the unchanging.

Things were only marginally different in the King’s Camp.

“You spend all of your time here,” the prisoner said. “One would think you had nothing else to do with your day. Does the Snake King not have something more interesting for you to attend to? Something that does not involve watching an old fool.”

Erik scrubbed a particularly tricky stain on the inside of the bowl. He had filled a basin with cold water and soap, and soldiers had been by all day with dishes that needed tending to. His fingers were red and raw, the skin peeling in places. It was boring work, but it was better than doing nothing.

“We both know there’s more to you than that, even if I don't know the specifics. But hey, feel free to share more of your backstory with me.” Erik rolled his neck to ease a crick out of it. “I could use a story to help pass the time.”

“Ah, stories are strange beasts. I fear you would not understand what I had to tell you.”

“I’m smarter than I look, you know.”

The prisoner laughed. “All humans think so. But stories, especially those that are personal… they have a way of getting lost in translation.”

Erik put down the bowl slowly, interested now. “That sounds like another way of avoiding the question.”

“You did not ask anything.”

Erik turned. The stone wall was in place; the prisoner was a person of power, no matter how much they pretended otherwise, but they didn't have the energy to keep the illusion of the mountain at bay for long. They limited their face-to-face interactions to once a day, in the evening, when Erik handed the prisoner their one meal. 

Erik had been intending to wait until the soldiers returned from the aerial attack, since the borders of the Camp were heavily guarded with magic at the moment. Extra measures, Jasper had said, with a mean glint in his eye. To keep the riff-raff where they belong. But his patience for this place and his lack of answers was dwindling fast.

And the Snake King was going to summon him again. Erik could feel it. 

“Who are you?” Erik said. “You’re important, or you wouldn’t be behind bars. You’re powerful, but not too powerful, or you’d be in the ground, or out on the frontlines. You’re not on their side, or you’d be in the King’s tent. You have something they want, but you won’t give it to them, and they need it badly enough that they won’t make you suffer for it. So, who are you? What do they want with you? Why are you in this cell? Who _are_ you?”

The prisoner leaned forward, and smiled. “When the time is right, you will know.”

That was the last straw. 

“Hate to break this to you, but your cryptic bullshit isn’t gonna work this time. You wanna know why?” 

“I would be delighted.” 

Erik grinned, all teeth, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I already know who you are, Seer.” 

The silence pressed in around him. Erik thought he might have made a mistake until the stone wall shivered again, blocking his view of the Seer. 

“Is that it?” Erik laughed, backing up a few steps. “What, you’re going to hide? Hell, maybe I was wrong then…” 

The stone wall exploded. 

The world was a blur of noise and movement. Erik was thrown through the air and hurled towards the ground; there wasn’t enough time to scream. His breath lodged in his throat, and he didn’t feel himself hit the ground, but he must have. He must have, even though the world was still spinning, and the sky had turned white, and the shriek of stone ripping apart echoed throughout the King’s Camp. 

He lay dazed on the floor, staring up at the sky, before the gentle, muffled sound of footsteps reached him. He turned his head, slowly, feeling the fragile centres of his brain shift and wobble, turned to whispering fluid. His gaze snagged on an ankle, bare. Flat slippers moved across the stone. 

Erik heaved himself off the ground, coughing hoarsely. There was grime and grit worked into his skin, and his ears were ringing as though a sirens song had taken root in his mind. But he seemed to have escaped the worst of the blast. He wasn’t bleeding, nothing felt broken, and the only pain came from tender edges of his shoulder blades, where he had hit the ground. He forced his head up, blinking heavily, and sucked in a sharp, surprised breath.

The Seer stood in a haze of smoke, their arms spread like wings to welcome the oncoming storm of soldiers. Shouts and the hurried clatter of swords coming loose from belts reached Erik through the thick mugginess in his brain. The Seer seemed unconcerned. Erik staggered towards them anyway, groping at the smoke like it might defy nature and hold him steady. 

“What are you doing?” Erik demanded, his voice little more than a shocked rasp. 

“Escaping, of course.” The Seer pressed the tips of their fingers against Erik’s shoulder, and gave him a little push. “I told you, when the time is right, you will know. So the time must be right. You have even less time than you imagine. The soldiers will soon realise what has happened, and they will be upon us, and I cannot promise that you will not be followed. Run fast, little one, and do not look over your shoulder.”

Erik rocked back on his heels. The darkest part of the camp, nearest to them, was covered in a thick layer of debris, but already the soldiers were stirring. Rocks were pushed this way and that, and dust filled the air as the mess was disturbed. A guard clambered out of the rocks, coughing and spitting, already reaching for his sword. More thundered towards them in the distance.

“Run fast, Erik,” the Seer said again, much softer this time. “We will meet again.”

“We will?” Erik staggered back a step. “Won’t you come with me?”

“My work here is not done. We will meet where the sky meets the sea, and should you make the right choices, you will see why all of this had to happen.” The Seer raised their arms, and the dust rushed towards them in a wave, particles that were eager to serve. “Now go. The King wakes. There is a child of light waiting for you.”

Erik didn't need to be told again. His throat was thick with shock and something terrifying, something close to gratitude, but he swallowed it down. Some of the dust clung to him, dousing him in a cloud that rendered him practically invisible. The rest swarmed the campsite, bringing with it the soft, mocking chuckle of the Seer. The Seer stood above it all, bathed in grim light, and directed the dust and smoke and clouds with a frightening capability. 

With his heart hammering in his throat, Erik turned his head away and ran. He did not look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freedom!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh I hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought, and thank you for reading! <3


End file.
